Echoes

On Saturday, it was roughly 50 million degrees outside. I am not a fan of hot weather, to put it mildly, but we had work to do, so I slathered on enough sunscreen to protect me from a nuclear blast, put on my big, floppy, dorky-but-practical hat, and bravely ventured out of the air-conditioned refuge of the house.

While my husband mowed the grass, I gave the poor plants much-needed water, trimmed roses, planted some new plants, all the while sweating more than any human being should be expected to sweat. When my husband finished the grass, he brought me cold water from the house, then sat in the shade on the front porch and watched me finish up, trimming a potted plant by the walkway.

He surveyed the yard like royalty regarding his kingdom, smiled, then told me, “I love our house.”

Even though I was two seconds away from a heat stroke and panting like a dehydrated dog, I had to smile too. Yes, I love our home, too. We have put a lot of work into our house and our yard, making it ours, and just looking at it makes me happy. I feel peace reach out to me when I pull into the driveway after work, and walking through the front door, I feel like I am entering our little sanctuary, our little piece of the world, leaving everything else outside.

I still remember standing on that front porch the first time we went to view the house. It’s funny to think about it now, when it was someone else’s house, empty, and we walked through those rooms for the first time. Now, I can’t imagine anyone else ever being in it, or us being anywhere else. Our touches fill the rooms, hang on the walls. Our voices echo in the air. (And since both of us can get loud, especially when we’re laughing, that’s a lot of echoes!)

I hope we never stop feeling this way. It brings me so much happiness and peace.